I barely slept a wink. My mind whirred with a thousand possibilities for Primrose House. I made lists in my head of all the people I had to contact, and how I would get started jazzing the place up and turning it into the art house of my dreams. I couldn’t believe it was going to be mine, mine, mine. And it was all thanks to Robbie and his crazy plan.

I must have finally fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning, because I was thrust rudely from slumber by Macavity – my recalcitrant ginger cat – throwing my mobile phone off the side of the bed.

“Merrrw,” he commanded, raising his paw to do the same thing to my stack of books. “Merrrrwwww!”

“All right, all right,” I grumbled, fumbling for my mobile phone. The sun streamed across my bed, cruelly informing me that I’d massively overslept. I checked the time. 9:43 a.m. My alarm had apparently rung seven times already. Yep, definitely overslept.

I fumbled my way to the kitchen, my eyes still not ready to fully open, and set down some food for Macavity. He snaffled away, his whole body shuddering with contented purrs, while I made double-strength coffee and tried to force my brain online.

Under my feet, the sound of the metal gate sliding open and furniture being moved around the shop told me that Elinor was already hard at work. Elinor was one of those annoying people who leapt out of bed at 6 a.m., instantly awake and coherent. I was the opposite. I usually spoke in grunts until at least 11.

I couldn’t afford that today, though. We had a busy day in the shop. I had a regular client booked for colour-touch ups in the morning, and in the afternoon, a very special event we’d be closing the shop for: the Lowe pack were all getting their tattoo.

The whole pack hadn’t been together for a couple of weeks, when we had drinks at Raynard Hall before Ryan left for London. Excited butterflies flipped in my stomach when I remembered I had something amazing to tell everyone. I’d been talking about the art house idea for as long as I’d known the pack, and they’d flip when they found out it was going to be a reality. With that in mind, I stuffed a breakfast bar in my mouth, guzzled my coffee, hurriedly applied some makeup and found my least rumpled jeans and favourite Ramones singlet, and rushed downstairs.

“Well, well, what time do you call this?” Elinor looked up from the drawing table, where she was working up stencils of the Lowe tattoo in preparation for this afternoon. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was to have Elinor Baxter in my life. She’d been a highly-paid, swanky lawyer in London before she came to Crookshollow on an assignment, and loved it so much she decided to stay. Her hot rockstar fiancé Eric Marshell definitely had something to do with it. I admired her so much for choosing an unconventional life over her cushy, parent-pleasing job, although I wished she’d left her punctuality back at the law firm, as well.

Elinor didn’t look like your typical tattoo artist. She had straight brown hair cut in neat layers around her face, and a pair of black-framed glasses that accentuated her large, dark eyes and bow-shaped lips. With her prim outfits and sexy curves, she looked more like a secretary than a tattooist, especially since she didn’t actually have any visible ink. Six months ago, I’d given Elinor her first ink – two beautiful wings across her back, the fine bones and sinews poking from her shoulder blades, curling into an elegant arc with the feathered tips ending right above her pelvis. Elinor drew the design herself – she had a real talent. I’d been trying to convince her to get sleeves done, but so far, she wasn’t keen.

Now, she was my apprentice, as well as being my best friend and one of the human members of the pack. I’d given her the job of designing the Lowe tattoo – it depicted a wolf staring thoughtfully up into the full moon, the branches of a spindly tree framing the scene. The pack’s new motto, AMOR VINCIT OMNIA – Love Conquers All – arched around the bottom in gothic script.

Ever since I’d discovered that shapeshifters were real and ghosts could be brought back to life, business at Resurrection Ink had been booming. Word spread around the shifter and supernatural communities that Elinor and I were part of the Lowe pack. Shifters had been travelling from far and wide to have their pack tattoos designed and inked by me and Elinor. We’d gained a reputation for exquisite work, and discretion for our less-than-human clients. Soon, our handiwork would become one of the most recognised symbols of the shifter community. I felt a stab of pride as I admired Elinor’s finely drawn lines and perfectly rendered wolf.

“You’re running this place so well, I don’t have to get up before lunch.” I yawned as I leaned back in a chair and grabbed one of her stencils for a closer look.

“Don’t you dare.” She rolled her eyes. “Sometimes, I think you and Eric would be perfect for each other. I have to go upstairs and yell at him several times to get him to roll out of bed.”

I stuck out my tongue as I handed back the stencil. “I could never date Eric Marshell. He may be a sexy gothic rockstar now, but I knew him when he was the scrawny, pimply teenager who loved cricket. He’ll always be that teenager to me.”

“I’m glad I never knew him then.” Elinor laughed. “It might shatter my dream.”

“So, you won’t believe what happened to me yesterday,” I said, as I wiped down the table with disinfectant and placed fresh covers on the clip cords and power unit.

“Does this have anything to do with that lawyer that came by yesterday about your mother’s estate?”

I grinned. Eleanor used to be a lawyer herself – she was whip smart, and nothing ever got past her.

“It does indeed.” I pulled over an image of the client’s tattoo and started assembling a line of inks across the top of my tray. “It turns out, I’ve inherited my grandmother’s house. It’s crazy, because my grandmother hated me, but it’s right there in the will, totally legit. Wait till you see this place, you’ll absolutely love it. It’s a Victorian manor just outside the village. It’s got loads of tiny, dark-panelled rooms and a big turret and there’s even a secret passage leading from the back of the kitchen to the attic bedrooms.“

“That sounds amazing.” Like me, Elinor had a love for the gothic. She’d have to, being engaged to the musician who single-handedly made the classical violin cool again. “What are you going to do with it?”

“I’m going to move in, of course. And then I’m going to Bianca-ify it. It’s perfect for my art house. I’m going to take out all my grandmother’s stuffy French antiques and ugly Victorian portraits, replace it all with junk-store finds and crazy art, turn the bedrooms into a hostel, and the parlour into a crazy art venue. Can you believe it? I’m actually going to make the art house happen, and all I have to do to get it is to get married.”

“Wait … what?” Elinor’s pen froze in midair.

I shrugged. “Yeah. I have to get married. My grandmother placed this crazy stipulation in her will that in order to take possession of the house, I had to be legally married to a man. She actually specified it had to be a man, can you believe it?”

“But Bianca, how are you planning on getting married when you don’t—” The bell on the shop door tingled. Elinor leapt to her feet. “Finish this story later?”

“Sure.” I watched Elinor flounce over to meet our walk-in – a mousy-girl with soft blonde curls and wide, frightened eyes. She stared at the skulls and dragons I’d drawn on the walls with an expression of utter terror. Elinor started to talk to her about the tattooing process, while I shoved the Lowe stencils under a pile of drawings so she wouldn’t see them.

A few minutes later, the girl was sitting behind the barrier, nervously wringing her hands while Elinor worked up a sketch for her. I glanced at the clock. My client was due in fifteen minutes, so I started prepping my gun and needles.

“What are you getting done?” I asked the girl while I worked. I loved hearing the stories behind people’s tattoos. What you chose to have inked on your body said so much about you as a person. My tattoos, mostly inked by friends from stencils I’d drawn, represented different stages of my life and travels – maenads battling satyrs from my time squatting in Greece, blood-red roses from my trip to Countess Bathory’s castle in Slovakia, an elaborate hieroglyphic frieze from my trip through Egypt. They were symbols of the life I’d carved for myself and the independence I’d earned.

This girl didn’t look like the usual “type” to get inked, but tattoos were so common now you could no longer make judgements like that. I knew whatever Elinor was drawing for her, she’d love it.

“Oh, um …” The girl’s eyes widened as she took in the huge gun in my hands, like a deer trapped in headlights. Her face paled. “I’m … um … getting a rose, on my stomach.”

“Cool. Roses are popular, and Elinor does a great job with florals.“ I pointed to a vivid pagan goddess on my forearm I’d done myself a couple of years previously. “I’ve been teaching her everything I know. I like to try and make tattoos look like old paintings.”

The girl smiled meekly, but her eyes betrayed her horror. “I could never have something like that. It’s nice, though.”

I laughed. “Don’t worry, we’re not going to make you look like me. Although, I have to warn you, everyone starts with something small, and then they get hooked. Before you know it, you’ll be in here every week, begging for your next fix.”

“… oh, I don’t know …” The girl hadn’t taken her eyes off the gun in my hand. She was so scared, it was adorable.

Actually, it was more than adorable. Those big doe eyes, that dark hair, those juicy lips … this girl was just my type – a sweet, innocent girl ripe for corrupting. I wondered if she was a local girl, and how she’d respond if I asked her out for a drink.

I patted her leg, letting my hand linger just a little longer than necessary. “It’s okay to be nervous. Most people are their first time. It doesn’t hurt as much as you’d expect, er, what’s your name?”

“Willow,” the girl practically whispered.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Bianca.” I extended my hand.

“Hi.” The word was practically a whisper. She placed her trembling hand in mine, her fingers long and thin and delicate.

“What do you do, Willow?”

“I’m … I’m a wedding planner.”

This meek girl is a wedding planner? In movies, wedding planners were always bossy, perfectionists types who bustled around in too-high heels and pretended to care about table centrepieces. I couldn’t imagine Willow yelling at caterers who messed up or frantically trying to find twenty metres of hot pink bunting at a moment’s notice.

My heart raced. How intriguing. Now I really had to get to know this girl more. On the plus side, if I kept Willow talking, she might be distracted enough that she wouldn’t faint before Elinor had even begun.

“That’s so cool. Elinor’s planning her wedding right now, aren’t you?” I grinned as Elinor came back from the drawing table, with a small square of paper depicting a beautiful, delicate rose, the petals shaded with intricate cross-hatching. Three drops of blood dripped from the thorns on its spindly stalk.

Wow, that’s a bit morbid. I wondered what had made Willow choose that particular design. It really seemed out of place. But that terrified look in Willow’s eyes told me now wasn’t the time to ask.

“I’ve already told Willow she should coordinate it.” Elinor handed the drawing to Willow, who took it in shaking fingers and stared at it as though it might eat her alive. “She’s just moved to Crookshollow and doesn’t have many local clients yet. She was telling me she’s worked on some big deal weddings in London, lots of celebrities and reality TV stars, even one for the royal family.”

“No way. That’s pretty impressive.” So she’s just moved to Crookshollow, and she must be single because if she was that scared of needles, any decent partner would have come along to support her. I bet she could do with some friends …

Willow glanced up, her pale face flushing. “Um, it’s not really … I just … I mean …” She handed the image back to Elinor. “This is perfect. Can I get it done now? I … I think if I have to come back, I’ll completely chicken out.”

“Sure,” Elinor sat back down at the table to make a stencil. “My next client isn’t until this afternoon. But you sure you definitely want this? It’s quite large and it will go over your ribcage, which means it will hurt a lot.”

Willow winced, but fixed her face into a look that I guessed was as close to determination as you could get when you were shaking with terror. “I’m sure. What do I do now?”

Elinor helped Willow up onto the table, and got her to roll up her shirt. She placed the stencil on her side, adjusted it and stuck it in place. Willow checked the placement in a mirror and nodded. Elinor got her to lie down, arranged a couple of pillows to make her comfortable, and then went out back to wash her hands.

Willow gazed around the shop, that terrified expression never leaving her face. I followed her gaze, trying to see the place the way she might see it. Of course, it was impossible. Before I’d taken up the lease, Resurrection Ink had been a laundromat. I’d cleaned out my entire bank account to paint the concrete floor a glossy black, wallpaper it with a garish Victorian floral print, build a waist-high wall and gate between the waiting area and shop floor, and deck it out with the best tattoo gear I could afford. The skull-themed art in faux-gilt frames and constant buzzing of tattoo guns might seem terrifying to some people, but to me, this place was home.

Looking at Willow, I wondered if I could think of another topic to distract her. I want to know more about why she moved to Crookshollow, and about the kinds of weddings she plans … hang on, wedding …

“Hey, you could do my wedding!” I exclaimed. “Elinor’s is still months away. Mine won’t be as flash, but it’s going to be in the next month or so, and I want something pretty crazy.”

Elinor’s head popped around the corner of the wall. “You’re really getting married just to get that house? Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Robbie.”

Elinor’s lips pursed.

“What? He offered.” I didn’t like the look she was giving me.

“Bianca, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why not? It’s not a real marriage. He’s just doing a favour for a friend. He’s desperate to get out of Raynard Hall. I’m going to give him a room in Primrose House for his trouble—”

The bell rang. I whirled around. Curtis, my client, stood in the doorway, his impressive bulk blocking the light from the street. “Hey, Bianca,” he said, removing his sunglasses and shrugging off his leather jacket to reveal a tight black t-shirt and two full-sleeve tattoos of evil, naked mermaids slaying fish-monsters with deadly tridents. Curtis was a regular – a construction worker and Harley Davidson enthusiast from Crooks Crossing who spent every spare cent he didn’t put into his bike on covering his skin in ink.

“Hey, Curtis.” I patted the table. “Come on back, I’m ready for you.” To Willow, I said, “Leave your card with me when you’re done, and I’ll give you a call.”

Oh yes, I’ll definitely give you a call.

“Thanks,” Willow said, wincing as Eleanor’s needle met her soft skin. Elinor glared at me. I turned back to my client, grabbing the disinfectant to clean his arm.

What’s Elinor so upset about? Is she worried my fake marriage somehow overshadows hers? That’s not possible, and she should know that. So what’s her problem?

* * *

As soon as Willow and Curtis left, we put up the “CLOSED” sign and set about prepping the place for the afternoon’s session. I tried to bring up the subject of the my fake-marriage again, but Elinor just held up her hand and said, “I don’t want to talk to you about it just yet. Why don’t you tell the others this afternoon and see what they say. Then I’ll feel safe giving you my opinion.”

I fumed as I disinfected the shop and changed the needle on my gun. I thought we were friends. Why does she not think I trust her opinion? And what’s there to even have an opinion on, anyway? It’s not as if this is a big deal. I thought she’d be happy for me.

There wasn’t any time to confront Elinor again before the pack arrived. Belinda Wu was the first to walk through the door, which didn’t surprise me in the slightest. Belinda was the baker at Bewitching Bites, the best place to eat in Crookshollow. She knew the importance of getting timing just right.

“I brought treats.” Belinda tucked a strand of her black hair behind her ear and yanked the lid off a box filled with fresh Cornish pasties and slices of her signature dessert – Heaven and Hell cake.

“Don’t bring those behind the barrier,” I warned. “We’ve just disinfected. But we’ll totally eat out in the waiting area.”

“Way ahead of you.” Elinor vaulted over the gate in her haste to snap up a still-warm pastie. “This is amazing, as always. I’m gonna have to introduce you to my last client, Willow. She’s a wedding planner and she just moved to Crookshollow from London, so she’ll need contact details for the best local caterer and cake-maker. I’ve already told her she has to plan my wedding.”

“And my fake wedding,” I piped up, as I joined them in the waiting area. I sank my teeth into the thick pastie. Warm meat and spices exploded on my tastebuds. My stomach rumbled with appreciation, and I realised I hadn’t eaten since my breakfast bar.

“Your fake wedding?” Belinda looked confused.

Succinctly, I explained about Primrose House and my grandmother’s will. “Robbie offered to marry me so I can get the house. Isn’t that awesome?”

Belinda suddenly become very interested in a tattoo magazine on the table. “Yeah, sure, Bianca. It’s great.”

I glanced at Elinor, but she was also avoiding my eyes. What is with everyone? Why are they not excited about this?

A terrible thought struck me. Maybe they all think the art house is dumb. Maybe they’ve been talking about it behind my back, laughing at how silly I was to think it could work.

Anger flashed through my veins. I stuffed the rest of the pastie in my mouth and bit down hard. So what? Sod them all if they thought the art house was stupid. Robbie believed in me, which made him a better friend, didn’t it?

I didn’t have much time to ponder the question, as Caleb’s voice boomed down the corridor. I rushed forward to hug him. Caleb was our leader – a boisterous hulk of a guy with a mop of ginger curls, a wicked smile and a mischievous nature. He was dragging his fiancee, Rosa, by the hand. His cousin Luke, dark-haired and serious, pulled up the rear.

“Anna decided to stay at home,” Luke said, giving me a gentle squeeze. “Little baby Colin didn’t have a very good night last night, so they’re both trying to get some sleep. I’ll come in with her later to get hers done.”

“No problem. Give her and Colin my love.”

“Will do. Oh, cake!” Luke bounded off to join the others.

More bodies filed into the shop. Eric arrived next, looking like a completely different person from the dweeb I knew in high school, with his long dark hair, brooding eyes, and chiseled features. He wore a high-collared black trench coat pulled close around his face, probably an attempt to avoid being recognised on the street. Elinor rushed forward and embraced him, and he whispered something in her ear that made her face light up.

A giant raven swooped in through the corridor, folding its jet-black wings around its body as it settled on the back of the velvet chaise lounge. The raven’s body contorted – its body bulging outward, wing bones snapping as they folded back in on themselves. The feathers retracted into its skin, and the long talons that dug into the fabric slid down the back of the seat, forming toes and ankles and shins. The raven tossed its head back and let out a discordant “croak!” as its face shifted, the beak curling back into lips. A few moments later, a stark-naked man sat on my sofa, his long black hair draped over his shoulders and a sardonic grin spread across his handsome face.

“Cole!” Belinda admonished her fiancé. “Why did you come like that? Now Bianca has to tattoo you naked.”

“I know. It’s her lucky day.” Cole grinned, spinning Belinda around until she squealed in delight. I rolled my eyes. Sometimes all the love around here could get a little tedious.

I turned back to the door just as Robbie and Marcus walked in together. When Robbie’s eyes met mine, a surge of something like relief rocked through my body. I stuffed the last bite of cake into my mouth and rushed over, giving him a hug.

“Hey.” His face broke into the most gorgeous smile. “I take you havenae changed your mind about what we talked about last night?”

“Not on your life,” I said, rubbing his arm. I couldn’t wait to get my needle onto Robbie’s skin. His current tattoos were appalling – wonky lines, dribbling ink, crooked lettering … there was even a spelling mistake in his Maclean crest. He looked like he’d been attacked by a scratcher who was both drunk and blind. I knew by the way Robbie always wore long sleeves that he was embarrassed by his ink, and honestly, he should be. His was the only stencil I’d insisted on drawing myself. I had something special planned for him. “Come on in, Belinda brought life-giving cake.”

Over Robbie’s shoulder, I noticed Elinor and Marcus exchange a pointed look.

Ryan and Alex arrived last, rushing down the hall, their clothes covered with flecks of paint. Irvine trailed behind them, looking a little annoyed. Irvine wasn’t officially a member of the Lowe pack – he had his own pack, the Bairds, back in Scotland. However, he and Caleb had an alliance, and to seal that pact, they were both getting each other’s crests inked on their skin. Shifter politics were weird, but I wasn’t about to complain about all these new customers.

“Sorry,” Alex puffed, rubbing at a smear of forest green streaked across her cheek. “We were in the studio and lost track of time.”

Elinor groaned. “I don’t know how I can stand hanging out with so many bloody artists. I need to buy you all watches.”

Alex lifted up her wrist, showing a cheap beaded bracelet that was speckled with paint. “A watch will be unreadable inside of a week. Come on, let’s see this design you’re going to poke into my flesh.”

Now that everyone had arrived, I went back to preparing the inks and guns, while Elinor showed them her stencils.

“It’s awesome.” Caleb grinned, holding up the stencil. “You’ve perfectly captured what our pack is all about.”

“It’s so big.” Belinda bit her lip, rubbing her arm.

“You’ll be fine,” Elinor reassured her. “It doesn’t hurt as much as you expect. And I’ve made you a slightly smaller one.”

Belinda looked relieved. On her tiny Asian body, the large crest would look really out of proportion.

“Right.” I patted the chair next to me. “Who’s first?”

“Not me.” Belinda shuffled toward the back of the group. Alex joined her, shooting a nervous glance at Ryan.

Caleb slapped Luke on the shoulder. “What do you say, cousin? Let’s show them how it’s done.”

Luke slid into Elinor’s chair, and Caleb plonked down beside me. “I presume you want me to disrobe, or will that be too distracting?” He grinned.

“Keep up that lip, Caleb Lowe, and I’ll replace your wolf with a beautiful big bumble bee,“ I responded, as I flicked the switch on my power unit and pulled the foot pedal toward me.

Caleb didn’t flinch as I touched the needle to his skin. Because he was already heavily tattooed, I was reworking the edge of a previous piece into the Lowe crest, with the smaller Baird crest incorporated beneath it. Caleb kept up a steady line of chatter about the pack and their plans while I worked on him. He kept gesticulating with his free arm, causing his whole body to shift, including the canvas upon which I worked.

“Hold still,” I growled at him for the tenth time, after he shifted again just as I started to draw a particularly difficult line.

“Sure,” he said, lowering his arm. A few minutes later, it was back in the air again.

I sat back in defeat. “This is ridiculous. Robbie, come over here, and hold his arm down.”

Robbie pushed his way through the gate. I pulled over a chair next to Caleb and patted the cushion. Robbie slumped down, clamping his hands over Caleb’s forearm. I picked up my gun again and continued the tattoo.

As I leaned in close to work on Caleb’s arm, I couldn’t help but notice the atmosphere had changed. With Robbie here, the air around me charged with a nervous energy.

Robbie’s eyes burned in the back of my skull as I worked. Why did my body feel so odd, all tingly and weird? Maybe I was coming down with something. I traced the lines on Caleb’s skin and wiped away the blood, my hand shaking a little. I had to pull my hand away before I messed up the line.

Whoah, that never happened. I glanced over at Robbie, and saw he was focused on Caleb’s arm. Was I imagining it, or had his skin paled?

Don’t think about it. Just focus on the work. I managed to work through the weird feeling. I added the final flourish of colour, and wiped away the last of the blood. “All done.”

Robbie dropped Caleb’s arm. Caleb stood up and struck a pose for the rest of the pack, who cheered. “This is the beginning of something epic, you guys. As soon as we find the Benedict Ring, this symbol is going to be known the world over as the symbol of shifter freedom.”

“I have some news about the ring,” Ryan said. “But I don’t want to try and explain it now with all the tattoo guns going. Instead, you should all come over for dinner tonight to celebrate. Simon’s cooking a big roast lamb.”

“I’m in,” Marcus said automatically. Everyone laughed.

“Bianca’s got some news as well,” Robbie said.

I glanced at Elinor, suddenly nervous. “I don’t want to overshadow Ryan’s dinner,” I said.

“You don’t have Simon’s roast potatoes, so that’s unlikely,” Marcus growled.

“Go ahead, Bianca,” Ryan said. I took a deep breath, and told them about my aunt leaving me the house, and the stipulation in the will.

“That’s so crazy!” Rosa said. “How could you grandmother possibly make such a ridiculous stipulation like that? Surely it’s not legal.”

“It actually is,” Elinor said. “I worked on some pretty bizarre probate cases back in London. This is by no means the weirdest.”

“There’s nothing else for it,” Caleb declared. “You’re going to have to find some poor schmuck to marry you.”

Silently, Robbie raised his hand, grinning shyly. I smiled and threw my arm around his shoulder. “Robbie’s agreed to do the honours.”

Silence. Ten faces stared at us in gape-mouthed horror. Robbie’s grin froze on his face.

Finally, Alex said, in her most falsely-bright voice. “That’s … that’s great.”

My jaw clenched with annoyance. I slid my arm off Robbie’s shoulder. “Don’t congratulate me all at once,” I said, louder than I’d intended. “You’re all invited to the wedding, if that’s what you’re worried about. I might even ask Simon to bring a batch of roast potatoes.”

“It’s not that I’m not happy for you,” Rosa said, her dark eyes darting between us. “It’s just that it’s very, um … unconventional.”

I gestured to the room. “I’m not exactly conventional.”

“Exactly,” Rosa said. “You said you’d never get married.”

“I’m not getting married. I’m getting fake-married. Big difference.”

“Not to a court of law,” Belinda said. “Or the church. Don’t they excommunicate people for this kind of thing?”

I threw up my hands. “Since when would I care what the church thought? You guys are acting like we’re destroying the sanctity of marriage or something. I can’t believe I even have to defend this to you lot. People get married for all sorts of reason, and it’s not like my fake-marriage has any reflection on all your real lovey-dovey marriages. So could you all hop off the judgement express and just be happy for me?”

Ten faces exchanged pointed looks. Belinda stared at her shoes. Rosa folded her arms. Only Caleb met my eyes, a questioning look in his friendly gaze.

An awkward silence fell. Finally, Elinor stepped forward, placing her hand on my other shoulder.

“We’re ready for the next two now,” Elinor said. “Bianca and I just need to wash and change our gloves. You guys decide who’s going to go next.”

Elinor and I crowded into the tiny washroom at the back of the shop. I elbowed her as she lathered up. “Okay, I waited to see their reactions. They look more like I invited them to a funeral than a wedding. What gives?”

“You really want my opinion?” Elinor asked, scrubbing her arms all the way up to the elbows.

“I really do.”

“Don’t marry Robbie.”

“I’m rather confused. I thought you loved my art house idea.”

“You know I do—”

“Right. Well, this is how I’m going to make it happen. It’s the only way I’m going to make it happen in this century.”

Elinor sighed. “I just … do you think fake-marrying Robbie is such a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because he’s madly in love with you.”

I snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“It’s true. He’s been crazy about you ever since he arrived in town. We can all see it. I can’t believe you’re so oblivious; you’re usually so clued into this stuff.”

“It’s not true. Robbie’s never made a move.”

“Have you met the guy? He may look tough, but he’s so shy I doubt he even knows what move to make. He probably thinks he’s not good enough, you being the daughter of a Lord and him being from the wrong side of the tracks. That’s why he’s agreed to marry you. He wants you to notice him.”

I peered around the corner of the washroom, out across the shop. Robbie sat on my bench, shirtless, swinging his legs as he waited his turn. His eyes darted nervously around the room, then settled on mine. His face broke out into a big, gorgeous smile, and my stomach flipped a little.

Does he like me? I’d never got that vibe off him, that “I want to bed you in a manly fashion” vibe you got from guys who just saw you as a conquest. Robbie and I were friends. We drank beer together and watched movies and ranted about the world and farted openly in front of each other. I didn’t even think he realised I was a girl.

But then … he would always drop everything to hang out with me. He laughed at all my stupid jokes. He even came clothes shopping with me and let me chatter all the way through every film we saw …

“But you don’t feel the same way, do you?”

“I …” For once, words failed me. I felt utterly flummoxed. It had never even occurred to me that Robbie might fancy me. What about the other night, when he walked me back from the pub? There was this moment, when I thought he was going to kiss me, and I wanted it?

But he was Robbie. He was my friend. And I did not date friends. I didn’t date, period. Dating always led to serious relationships, and I didn’t do serious. That wasn’t my style. Robbie knew that – maybe that was why he’d never said anything. He was more of a “wife-and-three-kids” kind of guy. He’d told me so on several occasions. His mother used to read him these stories when he was a kid, and Robbie memorised every single one by heart. There were always happy families, wife and husband and cheeky little kids. That’s was Robbie’s dream, but it made me want to retch.

Sure, Robbie was hot and all. And I guess we got on well, but I couldn’t give him what he wanted. I shook my head. Elinor sighed.

“Then what you’re doing is leading him on. It’s cruel.” She dried her hands, flinging the towel down on the side of the sink, and stormed out.

I sighed. Gripping the edge of the basin, I stared into my reflection. A deranged-looking woman stared back at me, ears heavy with metal piercings, colourful tattoos snaking up her skinny arms, tiny breasts snuggled inside a Ramones shirt with the neck cut out, eyes wild with the revelation of her friend’s feelings.

If Robbie looks at this and sees his future wife, then he’s crazy. Elinor’s right. He shouldn’t marry me if he can’t be honest about the reason.

But but but … if Robbie didn’t marry me, I could kiss Primrose House goodbye. The idea sent a sharp pain right through my chest. I couldn’t lose this chance. I just couldn’t.

There has to be a way to get the house without hurting Robbie. There just has to be—

My phone buzzed. I swiped it from my pocket and brought it to my ear without even checking who was called. “What?” I barked into the phone.

“Bianca Sinclair, that’s no way to address your mother.”

Great. My whole body stiffened as her grating voice screeched in my ear. Because this day couldn’t get any worse. “Yes, of course. Look, I’m very busy in the shop at the moment, so—”

Of course she wasn’t listening. “You should begin your salutation with a polite address, then identify yourself, then ask how you can assist the caller. ‘Good morning, Bianca speaking. How may I help you?’ Really, Bianca, you’ve been taught better manners than this.”

I rolled my eyes at the ceiling, the knot of tension already forming in my stomach. It had been months since we’d last spoken, and her first words to her only daughter were a lesson in manners. “I can’t talk right now, Mother. It’s loud here in the shop. What do you want?”

“What do I want? Is that the appropriate response for a daughter to give her mother while she’s in mourning? Your father and I haven’t heard from you in two years, but I would have thought you’d call after a member of your own family is buried.”

I rubbed my temple. Has it really been two blissful years of no contact before her call last week?

“You made it very clear I wasn’t to attend the funeral. I felt faking interest in it would seen disingenuous.”

“Bianca!” I held the phone away from ear as her screech echoed around the tiny bathroom.

“Kidding, Mother. I was going to call …” I started to say, but she cut me off.

“The lawyer has been to speak to us about June’s will. Now, I assume you’ll be passing on her kind offer of Primrose House in order to continue your heathen lifestyle, and I’ll need you to contact the lawyer with your statement so your father and I can continue probate—”

“I have no intention of giving you that house, Mother.”

“You don’t have any choice, dear. You cannot circumvent her conditions. She disapproved of your bohemian lifestyle just as much as I. I want to make it absolutely clear that one of your women will not be welcome in Primrose House. It is for bringing up a family, and you can’t—”

“Two women who love each other and decide to adopt are just as much a family as we are,” I explained through gritted teeth. “And I’d argue even more, since at least they have mutual respect, which you’ve never given me.”

“Children do not demand respect from their parents. They must earn it, and not by deserting their families to live a life of debauchery—”

“You can stop the tirade right there, because I am getting married. To a man. With a penis. Your puritan fantasies will be fulfilled.”

“Excuse me—”

“I’ve been seeing this guy, Robbie, and he’s great.” I peeked out the door again. There he was, still swinging his legs, deep in conversation with Caleb and Rosa. He caught my eye and gave me a nervous smile. Elinor’s words twisted in my gut, but I ignored them. For once, I wasn’t lying to my mother – Robbie was great. He’d be fine. I wasn’t going to let her get her hands on the house. “We were going to get engaged anyway, but Grandmother’s letter made the decision for us. Robbie asked me last night, and I said yes.”

“Bianca Sinclair, this isn’t how these things are done. We haven’t even met this man of yours yet. He hasn’t formally asked your father for his blessing. We don’t even know what family he’s from.”

Even though she was scolding me, she couldn’t hide the delight in her voice. She’d been waiting her whole life for the day I settled down and became a proper lady who liked men the way proper ladies did. She was so pleased it wasn’t a woman, I imagined her doing a little dance right there in her drawing room.

“I’ve been living on my own since I was sixteen. I don’t need Dad’s permission for anything.”

“Very well, I guess it’s too late now. Oh, Bianca, I can’t tell you how pleased I am. I’ve kept June’s engagement ring for you, just in case this day ever came. It has a beautiful emerald that will set off your eyes. And my wedding dress, if you think you’d like to wear it—”

Sixteen feet of Indian lace and a bodice so heavy with beads it would need a whole roll of duct tape to secure it to my non-existent chest? No thank you. “I’ve already chosen my dress, and Robbie’s given me a ring.” A delicious deep-fried ring, but I didn’t bother explaining that to her.

“Well, then. I expect you’ll want the wedding soon, so you can get into your new home. I shall set up a meeting with Father Henry. He’ll be delighted to have another Sinclair wedding in the cathedral—”

“Robbie and I aren’t very traditional. I don’t think we’ll be getting married in a church.”

“You must get married in a church, Bianca. Marriage is a sacred bond that should be given in the house of the Lord.”

I rolled my eyes as she railed through one of her religious sermons. She paused to take a breath and I managed to get a word in. “No church, and that’s final. If it will make you feel better, I’ll get one of my friends to dress up in a Cassock and—”

“Well,” she gushed, switching to her tactic of ignoring anything I said that didn’t fit her picture of how she wanted things to be. “You shall have to come over for dinner next week, we have a lot to do if we’re to start plans for your wedding. I’ll call the Devonshire Club, but I understand they’re booked up years in advance. Perhaps Ryan Raynard may let us use his ballroom. After all, Raynard Hall was the original seat of our family.”

I snorted. “Ryan turned his ballroom into a painting studio. That marble floor is covered with paint splatters. I did actually want to ask you … I know June’s will stipulated I couldn’t move into the house until I was married, but I wondered, if I could perhaps have the wedding at Primrose House?”

“You mean, a garden wedding? A little unconventional, I suppose, but then, that is you, isn’t it dear?”

I knew exactly what my mother was picturing – a marquee on the lawn, waiters in tails handing out little trays of disgusting raw fish things, a string quartet in the corner, four-hundred pretentious wankers I didn’t even know talking about their horses and how England was going to the dogs because of all the immigrants. All things I abhorred.

But fine, she could think that if she wanted. Anything to get her off the phone. “Yes, that’s it. And you don’t need to worry about any of the details – I’ve hired a wedding planner. Her name is Willow and she did a royal wedding. So I have everything under control.”

“But—”

“I’ll send you a Facebook invite!” I cried, jammed my finger on the END CALL button, and tossing the phone against the wall.

Great. I’d hoped to keep the wedding a secret from my parents for as long as possible. They could throw a huge spanner in the works. They were the ones who had to believe in my marriage to Robbie, or they’d contest the will and get their hands on Primrose House.

My only chance of convincing them I was serious was to keep them as far away from Robbie as possible, but I guess that was wistful thinking. She’d never stop hounding me until I took Robbie to meet her. Yikes. Poor guy.

I glanced at him again. Elinor was cleaning his arm, ready to do his tattoo. He bit his lip, his eyes darting nervously to my gun sitting on top of my power unit. I didn’t blame him; if I had tattoos that looked half as bad as his, I’d be nervous about being inked, too.

I grabbed the towel and dried my hands furiously. Elinor’s wrong. Robbie’s totally fine. He’d have said something if he wasn’t. Elinor’s just overreacting because she doesn’t like the fact that I’m getting married before her. Everyone doesn’t understand that just because they’ve all paired off into happy couples, that doesn’t have to be the way everyone else is.

I’ll talk to Robbie, lay everything out for him, make sure we’re still on the same page. That’s the right thing to do. I can still keep the house. It’ll be totally fine.

Satisfied, I tossed down the towel, and pulled on another pair of sterile gloves. Time to ink some wolves.